


Bought

by SpencerRemyLvr



Series: A Collection of Ideas [18]
Category: Criminal Minds, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: D/s, DO NOT READ IF EASILY TRIGGERED, Dubious Consent, F/M, I hope I covered all triggers, Kidnapping, M/M, Master Remy, Master/Slave, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Mutant Rights, Mutant slavery, Recovery, Slave Spencer, Slavery, Triggers, dub con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 21:08:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4935412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpencerRemyLvr/pseuds/SpencerRemyLvr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An old fic I had that FF.net removed. Working undercover to take down a mutant slave ring, Remy ends up buying himself a slave that catches his eye - Spencer</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a slave fic where Spencer was kidnapped years ago and trained before being sold by a mutant slave ring. There is what appears to be unsafe D/s practices in this and a lot of what is done in here is not considered SSC (Safe/Sane/Consensual) Do not put any of these into practice, please, and please keep in mind that Spencer was trained to be a submissive by horrible people, which means what he considers okay to do is not necessarily okay to do in real life.

He couldn’t take his eyes off the young man. Something about him tugged at Remy, demanding his full attention. As the announcer detailed the specifics of this ‘product’, Remy stared, unable to look away. The young man wore nothing but the collar and shackles that stood out so stark against his pale skin. He was all long, lanky limbs and smooth looking pale skin. From the looks of it, he’d be close to Remy’s height, maybe just a few inches shorter. Brown hair hung loose and free around a face that definitely drew the eye. Wide brown eyes, cheekbones most women would kill for, same with the eyelashes, and a mouth that just begged to be kissed. _Dieu_ , the man was beautiful. And he was terrified. Something in the way he looked, the way he moved, said that he wasn’t new to this. Maybe it was the look in his eyes. The knowledge there that no one should ever have. Whatever it was, something told Remy that this wasn’t the first auction the man had been part of.

The bids started and Remy found something in his stomach clenching. He had been forced to watch countless mutants be sold to the highest bidder both yesterday and today. It was the part of the assignment that he hated the most. It left a sour taste in his mouth and a knot in his stomach. Yet he’d still managed to do his job, knowing that, in the long run, they would save far more if he stuck to the plan. Instead of saving one or two, they would shut this ring down if everything went right. They would take out the ringleader of the whole group. That knowledge was the only thing that had kept him calm and quiet as person after person had been sold.

Why this young man was different, he just didn’t know. But it was ripping him apart to watch as the bids grew for him. Remy’s eyes drifted over the pamphlet in his hand that gave the stats for each ‘product’. Product number 723, a twenty seven year old male. Health—Good. No crippling injuries. Lash scars over back, faint. No tattoos. Disposition—Quiet and well trained. Mutation—Blue telekinetic energy. Years in service—Three.

When a lull hit in the bids, the announcer laughed and called out to the crowd “Come now! Can’t we go any higher? He’s not a novice to the block! Barely needs any training, this one. He’d be perfect for the houses! Look at that smooth flesh, barely marred. Not even tattooed! Don’t one of you lot want to pay for the joy of being the sole tattoo on his skin?” He gave the chains a jerk and the young man was toppled to his knees with a low thud that didn’t even draw a wince from him. The man simply folded his hands, palm down, to rest on his thighs and he bowed his head.

Through the screen of his hair, brown eyes peeked out at the crowd and Remy swore in that instant that they locked right on him. There was a flash, something there and gone again, and Remy’s stomach gave a clench. He barely realized what he was doing when the announcer called out for another bid and Remy discreetly held up his hand, making a lazy gesture in the air.

Beside him he felt Jean’s surprise. They had discussed making wagers today, just to keep up appearances. They were playing a part after all. But they’d agreed to do so only when they could positively say that they wouldn’t actually end up having to _buy_ someone. She could tell that Remy wasn’t bidding for play. He was bidding seriously. As the bids went higher, Remy made the same gesture, topping what the other bidder was making. He ignored Jean beside him and was grateful that she couldn’t reach past his mental shields to try to talk him out of this. There was no way she could stop him.

Remy knew he had won before it was even announced. When the other bidder backed down and the sale became his, Remy watched the slender figure he had just purchased be led off the stage. He knew what would come next for the young man. He would be taken to a room where he would be prepared for his new owner. Some people waited through the bidding, buying more than one, and those they bought were held in a room for them until they were done. Others left after their purchase, to take care of details and retrieve their new property. Remy waited for the next bidding to start before he rose from his chair and slipped from the room, Jean on his heels. He was glad it was her with him. She knew how to work undercover and kept her cool well, not giving them away in the least. Her hand slipped into the crook of his elbow and she moved regally beside him.

Shouldn’t he be feeling slightly disgusted with himself right now? He had just _bought_ another human being! He thought that he should feel disgusted or disturbed by this. Yet he felt none of that. As he sought out the proper people and was then escorted back to the holding rooms, all he could think of was those brown eyes that had held that spark in them, that random flash that Remy still couldn’t quite place.

They were led into a private holding room and when the door opened, it was a blessing that Remy was so skilled at putting on an act. He had to use all his skill to keep from reacting to the sight of the kneeling young man waiting for him. A man stood on either side of the young man and two more stood at the door, as well as the man who had led them back here. Remy kept track of them all while turning most of his attention to the one kneeling. Even as his eyes drank in every inch of the young man, he kept his expression controlled. Right now he had a part to play and messing this up could mean death for them all. He looked him over with a critical eye, checking him as he knew any buyer would do with a new purchase, making sure there were no visible scars not mentioned or signs of anything that might cause worry. He stepped up close to him and the young man fluidly bent down and pressed his forehead to the floor, arms stretched out and palms flat to the ground above his head.

Remy murmured appreciatively and looked to man that had led him back here, the one he knew he would have to deal with for the money transfer. At his look, the man stepped forward, smile in place. “You are pleased with your purchase, Sir?”

“Quite.” Remy looked down at the body below him. “Quite pleased.”

“If it pleases you, you may inform the gentlemen of what tattoo you wish and it will be taken care of while we go take care of the rest of our business, Sir.”

He had known before coming back here that they would require a tattoo. It had been stated from the start that, as a precautionary measure against those that sought to simply buy and release, all slaves were to be tattooed before leaving the property. There was no getting around this. He’d already thought of that and he knew what he would put on there. What he _had_ to put on there. It was the only mark he could think of and it was one that would guarantee the young man protection in the future from some kinds of people. He looked to the men on either side of the young man, the ones he knew would be doing the work, and he reached in his shirt, pulling off a necklace that always sat against his skin. At the end of the chain was a cross with two swords laid over it. The cross itself sported an intricate design with the blue and yellow colors of the LeBeau clan. It was the necklace his father had given him the day he’d married Belle and had become a man in the eyes of the family. A family crest they had forged for themselves, he’d said. Remy wore it with pride.

Holding the necklace out, he looked at the men. “This is what I want. It is a family symbol, so take care, both in handling this and in the making.” His accent was just a pale shadow of its usual sound, all part of his cover. There was no denying the sound of Louisiana in his words, but they weren’t the Cajun drawl he typically had. It was smoother, better suited to the man of money that he was playing.

One of the men carefully took the necklace from him. “Of course, Sir.”

Remy looked down at the young man again and his stomach clenched once more. He needed to get this young man out of here, soon. Maybe then he could figure out what it was that tugged at him so strongly. Why was this young man calling to him? What on earth had spurred him to actually _buy_ him? Remy carefully watched as he gave the command “Up.” Instantly the young man straightened back to his original kneeling position. His hands were flat on his thighs, head bowed down slightly, eyes downcast, spine ramrod straight. Yeah, he was definitely well trained. Remy cocked his head to the side. He kept watching the young man while still speaking to the man holding the necklace. “I have no preference where the tattoo goes. I feel it makes it mean more when the boy picks where on their body they are marked. It makes it more personal. Show them where you want the tattoo, boy.”

It surprised him completely when the young man tilted his head to the side and brought one hand up to touch the left side of his neck. That was a very visible spot to choose. As soon as he had that thought, understanding kicked in. Visible was most likely his goal. For slaves that served in a house or were sent out on errands, having a visible mark could act as a talisman of protection. There were those out there who would ignore it, sure, but there were also those that would step in if they saw one openly marked that was being harassed. Those without a mark were considered open game. Either this young man had been in that position or he’d seen it happen to others.

For the moment Remy pushed those thoughts away. Later was the time to think on that. Later, he could ask. For now he still had a job to do and a role to play. “A fine choice. Gentlemen.” Remy turned and he and Jean were being led out by the other man to go take care of the bank transfer that would finalize this sale.

Thirty minutes later, the car was being brought around to the back and Jean and Remy were waiting with two guards and Remy’s new boy, freshly tattooed and clothed in simple slacks, a t-shirt, and a pair of sandals. A few more minutes and Remy was assisting Jean into the back of the limo and then gesturing for the young man to climb inside. He took his own seat, the driver shutting the door behind him, and then they were taking off for their current ‘home’. Remy looked to where the young man sat quietly in a corner, obviously trying to stay out of the way.

Now that things were well and done, Remy knew he was going to have to face Jean. With a brief mental preparation, he lowered his shields strength just slightly. Enough that she could reach out to him. It took her only seconds to do so. He allowed the mind touch and tried to brace himself for what he knew was coming. _//Oui, Jeannie?//_

_//Remy, what is going on here?//_ She wasted no time in getting to the point. Worry colored her mind voice. _//You bought and branded a person. Why?//_

Remy reached up and fingered the necklace that he now had back on. He’d yet to tuck it back into his shirt. Unerringly his eyes went to the bandage that was taped over the young man’s neck where the tattoo now sat. The collar rested just below it. _//Dere was no getting out of de tattoo. Dey require it be done as a countermeasure against people like us buying up folks and setting dem free. Had no choice on dat, me. Least dis way de homme has some protection//_

_//But why buy him to begin with?//_

_//Honestly…Remy don’t know//_ He briefly moved his eyes and looked at where she sat beside him. She’d scooted a little closer for this conversation so that now their legs were brushing against one another. In an absent gesture meant to soothe them both, he rested his hand on her knee, rubbing lightly. It was something he’d done countless times and that they both knew there was no sexual edge to. He never really thought of Jean like that. She was more like a friend, an older sister, and sometimes even a mother all rolled into one. He trusted her more than people realized. Not as much as Ororo and nowhere near as much as Logan, but she was on his list of people that he trusted and that was saying a lot, considering she was a telepath and telepaths gave him the creeps. _//He was kneeling dere and his eyes…_ merde _, Remy just couldn’t let him be sold off to some stranger. Know we’re here to stop dis all, not to save individuals,_ mais _dis one…just couldn’t let him go. Somet’ing in me had to save him//_ It was the most honest he could be with her.

For a long moment she said nothing at all. Then her hand lifted and settled over his, her fingers curling around his and squeezing. He took the supportive gesture and knew that she understood there was more to this than he was saying. More that he couldn’t say, that hurt him to even think about. Leaning back in his seat, Remy watched their passenger through his lashes, wondering what he’d gotten himself into and what exactly he was going to do now.

* * *

Their arrival at the hotel was easy and uneventful. It said quite a lot about the young man that he didn’t flinch when he was led from the limo and into the hotel. He didn’t even try to get anyone’s attention or try to find a way to run. Quietly he followed them to the elevators that took them up to the penthouse suite they were renting. Remy deliberately paid him little attention for now, not wanting to get himself caught up in watching and thinking. He blanked out his mind as best he could and simply ran on autopilot until they were inside the suite and Jean was shutting the door. The sound of their arrival had drawn Logan’s attention and the door was barely shut before the feral man came strolling out of one of the bedrooms and into the living room. His eyes almost instantly went to the newcomer.

Remy turned toward the young man, briefly touching his shoulder to get his attention. He lifted a hand and pointed to the door on the far left. “Over there is my room. There’s a bathroom in there as well. Go on and make use of the facilities and then wait for me in there. Feel free to lie on the bed and rest while you wait. If you’re sleeping, I’ll wake you when I come in. I’ve some things to attend to first.” Remy was still in role enough that his accent stayed the soft, slightly southern business voice that he’d been using for his cover.

The young man nodded and murmured a low “Yes, Master.” that had Logan’s eyebrows winging up. With whisper soft steps, the young man turned and went straight to the bedroom, slipping inside. He left the door open a crack behind him. Only when they heard him enter the bathroom did Remy finally turn to his friends. He found Logan’s eyes locked on him and there were questions written there. Remy fought back the urge to rub a hand over his face. Suddenly he just felt exhausted. The night hadn’t gone anything like he’d planned and his rash decision was starting to catch up with him, the implications of what he’d done settling in.

He heard the soft sound of footsteps before Jean’s hand brushed his arm. Turning, he found her standing beside him with a snifter of what looked to be scotch in her hand. He took it gratefully. The burn felt good, working its way down his throat to pool in his stomach. It steadied him enough that he was able to give her a more honest smile. “ _Merci_.”

“Of course.” She smiled back, though her eyes still held a slightly worried look to them. Once more she stroked her hand over his arm. “I’m going to go check in with Scott. I’ll see you in the morning, sweetie. Call out if you need me for anything.” The sincerity of her offer made him smile once more.

The room stayed quiet as Jean went to the other bedroom, the door closing behind her with a whisper soft sound. Once it had, Logan turned to look right at Remy. “So, what’s going on?” He asked in his usual blunt way. He strolled over to him, hands hooked into his pockets. “The kid someone you know?”

It made Remy smile just slightly to hear Logan’s question. The man hadn’t demanded to know what Remy had done, or acted as if he’d even done something wrong. He’d just assessed the situation and assumed that Remy had a logical reason. That kind of faith was something that Remy hadn’t found in any other friends. Too many others would’ve been demanding to know why on earth he bought a person, wondering in their minds all the while about his intentions. Not Logan.

With a shake of his head, Remy took another drink of the scotch. “ _Non_. Just…just someone Remy gotta help, dat’s all.” With one hand he cradled the scotch while he reached into his jacket pocket with the other, pulling out the little carrying case that held his cigarettes and lighter. Together he and Logan made their way toward the patio. He knew he could leave his answer as it was and Logan wouldn’t press the issue. That was just how their friendship worked. They respected the fact that each other had secrets and, so long as it didn’t put anyone in immediate danger, they didn’t press. But because it was Logan with him, someone that Remy trusted more than anyone else but his father, he found himself elaborating on his answer. “Don’t know what came over me, mec. De _homme_ came out on de stage and he just, _je ne sais pas_. Dere was somet’ing about him.” Pausing, Remy put a cigarette to his lips and flicked his lighter, puffing it to life while they stepped out onto the patio. He passed the lighter to Logan so that his friend could light his cigar.

“What’re ya planning on doing with him?” Logan asked, passing the lighter back over now that his cigar was lit.

Absently Remy pocketed his lighter. The cool taste of his cigarette worked to steady his nerves a little more. He smoked and thought for a minute, really thinking about his answer. “Help him.” He said finally. “Figure I can give de _homme_ de same chance a man once gave dis Cajun. According to de stats, he’s been in de life fo’ three years. _Three_ _years_. Y’ don’t just walk away from dat much time in dis life.”

“No, ya don’t. It aint gonna be an easy thing, though. He’s got to want the help, Gumbo.”

“He wants it.” Of that, Remy was positive. He thought of that flash he’d seen in the young man’s eyes when he’d been forced to kneel on that stage. There was still life inside of him. Maybe that was what had drawn him in most of all. Whatever that spark had been, it indicated there was still life in him. Where there was life, there was hope. “He may be defeated, _mais_ he aint totally broken yet. Dere’s still hope fo’ him.”

Logan turned to look at him, smoke wreathing lazily around his head. For a long moment he just stared in that way he had that always left Remy feeling as if the older man could see every secret he held. Then Logan broke his stare and looked back out at the night. “If ya need anything, ya let me know.”

The offer was pure Logan and it had Remy relaxing enough to grin at him. “ _Merci, mon ami_. I’ll remember dat when we get home and de shit hits de fan over dis. Don’t t’ink it’s gonna go over well with some of de house, y’ know?”

A deep laugh rumbled up from Logan’s chest. “That’s an understatement, Cajun.”

Speaking of fallout…Remy cursed long and low. At the look he got from Logan, he sighed and set his glass down. “Just remembered, I gotta call _mon père_ and let him know. De group, dey require de slaves be tattooed b’fore dey leave. Dere wasn’t any way out of it, so I had dem put de only t’ing I could t’ink of.” He reached up and fiddled with his necklace. “I aint lucky enough fo’ dem not to recognize de LeBeau crest and colors.”

Logan stubbed out his cigar, making sure it was out before pocketing what was left. “I’ll go check in on Jeannie, see if she’s still talkin’ to Scooter. You go on and call your Pop, let him know what’s up. Ya need us, ya know where we are.”

The gruff offer brought a small smile back to Remy’s lips, faint but still there. “ _Merci,_ Logan.” The thanks was for more than just that offer and both of them knew it. Logan just clapped a hand to his shoulder in silent communication and then left him there. Remy took a bit to smoke and calm his mind, trying to plan out how exactly he was going to explain this to his father. There was no getting around it; Jean-Luc had to be informed. By marking the young man with the crest and colors of the LeBeau family, Remy had put him under their protection. Any harm that came to him now wouldn’t just be on Remy, it would be on the whole family. All the young man would have to do would be show that tattoo to anyone in the LeBeau family and he would be granted safe harbor. Not just the LeBeau family, either, but the guild as well. Jean-Luc was patriarch of the Thieves’ Guild and, though banished, Remy was still a part of that family. Now, so marked, the young man was as well.

Maybe to the rest of the world that might not make much sense. They wouldn’t understand the old fashioned ideals that could exist in the underground society that most didn’t even know was there. The Guilds and the families involved in them went back generations. Further than many would guess. They were bound by codes of honor and responsibility that were bred into them from a young age and that Remy had been taught from the first day Jean-Luc had brought him home. Those codes still defined the young Cajun’s life, even though he was around people who didn’t even know them and would never hold him accountable to them. He knew the codes and that was enough. He lived by them as he had been taught, despite the trouble it had caused him sometimes. It had been those codes that had forced his hand when dealing with Sinister.

Remy sighed lightly. There was a good chance he was going to end up in trouble for this. To buy someone, to mark them this way, was a huge responsibility and one that, back in the time that this was still considered widely acceptable, he would’ve been required to consult his father before committing to. Even in these modern times where slavery was forbidden in the normal world, where it was illegal, in the underground world this was still something that he should’ve spoken with Jean-Luc about first. Not to mention the hatred Jean-Luc held for this practice to begin with. The man was a firm believer that one human could not _own_ another. Employ, yes. Command, yes. But own, like one would own an animal? No.

Sighing, Remy ran a hand through his hair. There was no more putting this off. Time to call his father and let him know what he’d done. He took one last deep breath and pulled his phone out of his pocket.


	2. Chapter 2

Twenty minutes later, Remy stood staring down at the cell phone in his hand, completely nonplussed. He found he could only shake his head and smile at the phone. “Y’ always surprise me, Papa.” He murmured into the night air. His conversation with Jean-Luc had gone far different than he’d thought it would. The man had surprised him with his reactions to things. Their greeting had been warm as it always was between them and then Remy had wasted no time diving right into the reason why he’d called. He never beat around the bush with his Papa. There was a brutal honesty that had been forged between them from the first day and that had never faded over the years. It was one thing that Remy could always count on with him.

His father had seemed to accept his story so easily that it had left Remy flustered. Surprising him even more, Jean-Luc laughed when he realized he’d flustered his son. “Did y’ t’ink I was gonna be mad, _mon fils_? I aint gonna judge y’ fo’ helpin’ out a lost soul.”

“Don’t know what it was, Papa. We was just sittin’ dere, doin’ what we had to, and dis _homme_ , he came out on de stage and I just…” Frustration had Remy’s worlds trailing off.

He should’ve known that, of all people, his Papa would be the one to understand him .Jean-Luc made a sound that was clearly understanding before saying “It was de same fo’ me, petit. One look at y’ and dere was no way I could let y’ go. Didn’t matter what it took. Y’ was mine from de first minute I looked at y’.”

Hearing that had helped Remy relax a little more. From there, the conversation had gone so much easier, finally ending with promises to meet up somewhere when the time worked out right for them both. Jean-Luc wanted to meet the man that had caught Remy’s interest.

Done with all his business, Remy turned to look back in toward the hotel room. Now it was time to go in and deal with the one at the center of all this chaos. All this time he’d been keeping a light eye on the emotions coming from his end of the suite. He’d felt the boy’s curiosity and concern as well as his caution. He’d also felt as he drifted off into a light sleep. Light enough that Remy guessed he’d probably wake up at the slightest sound. That was a trait that could be learned from so many different things. There were some ‘trainers’ out there that taught slaves to do it so they could always be ready to be on call for the one they served. Remy had learned the ability as a kid on the streets, catching sleep here and there when he could, always ready to wake in a flash and defend himself and his property.

He moved almost silently through the suite first, making sure all doors were locked and windows shut and checking to make sure there was nothing here that shouldn’t be. Then he finally gathered himself and made his way to his bedroom. Time to confront the results of his actions.

The bedroom was lit low, the lamp beside the bed the only light on. It gave it a nice, dim look that was perfect for Remy’s sensitive eyes. He could easily see the slender form curled up at the foot of the large, four poster canopy bed. For a second Remy stood silently and watched the sleeping young man. His long brown hair hung loose and free around his head, little bits of it curling here and there at the ends. Relaxed like this, Remy could see a slight gauntness to the young man’s features that suggested he was underweight. Yet, Remy had a feeling that he was a naturally slender man. It showed in the slim wrists and long, slender fingers that were resting on the bed in front of his face. It had showed earlier when he’d been naked and kneeling and Remy had looked over his body. His looks told Remy that he would probably stay slender no matter how well-fed he became.

The urge was there to stroll forward and drop down by the foot of the bed. To reach out and stroke a finger over those cheekbones, tracing the lines of that angelic looking face. He found himself wondering if all that skin was as smooth as it looked. Remy licked his lips and tried to push back the little swell of lust. There was no room for that here. He _couldn’t_ desire this man. Not under these kind of circumstances. Appreciation was one thing, but lust was something else entirely and something that he couldn’t indulge in. He was not going to turn into another monster just like the other men that came to these things. He was going to help, not cause more harm.

A deep breath and then he was closing the door behind him and fully coming into the room. He hadn’t made the door silent, wanting to see just how lightly the young man slept. It didn’t surprise him when the click of the lock brought those magnificent eyes open wide. Before Remy was two steps into the room, the young man was up on his knees in the center of the bed, forehead pressed against the blankets, hands stretched out above his head and pressed flat into the bed.

Remy admired the fluid grace with which he’d done that. Then he shook his head to try and clear his thoughts out. How was he supposed to go about this? How to explain to the man that he wasn’t like the others who had purchased him over the years? Convincing him wasn’t going to be easy, he knew. He clearly remembered when Jean-Luc had brought him home and told him that he was to be there, not as a slave, but as his son. It had taken weeks before he’d begun to believe that _maybe_ the man was telling the truth.

 _First t’ings first_ he told himself. “Up. Dere’s no need to kneel like dat in here, _homme_.”

He felt a small flare of surprise. Whether it was for the command or for the change in Remy’s accent, he wasn’t sure. But he watched the young man shift to his knees, spine straight and hands going to rest on his thighs palm down. That was probably the best he’d get right now. Remy moved to the small couch that was by the armoire and he sat down, immediately bending to remove his shoes. He never wore shoes long in the bedroom. They were the first thing off when he came in the door and the last thing on before he left. While he untied the laces, he snuck a glance up at the still figure on his bed. Maybe it would be best to start this simple. “Y’ got a name? Can’t just keep callin’ y’ _homme_.”

Again that surprise. Whoever he had been with before must not have cared about that detail. Many owners didn’t. Generally they chose a new name for them, another way to take away the person’s identity. Wide eyes peeked out sideways through the screen of hair before dropping back down to his knees. “Yes, Master. My previous owner called me Zach.”

Mm, the young man had a warm, smooth voice. A hint to it that told Remy he was most likely west coast. California, maybe. Or the Northwest. Definitely not originally from around here. He pulled his first shoe off and set it aside before going to the next. “Dat aint what I was aiming for, exactly. What’s y’r actual name? De one y’ was born with?”

There was no hesitation from the young man. “Spencer, Master.”

Free of his other shoe, Remy stretched his feet for a second, looking over toward the bed. Spencer, huh? The corner of his mouth quirked up slightly. “Dat’s a bit of an older name fo’ one so young. _Mais,_ I t’ink it suits y’. M’ name is Remy. Remy LeBeau.” He rose, watching Spencer as he went. The man didn’t flinch as Remy strolled over towards him. When he reached the foot of the bed, the Cajun casually leaned against one of the bed posts. For this part of things, Remy kept his senses trained on Spencer, trying to prepare for just about anything. “Spencer, do y’ know why I bought y’ tonight?”

“To serve you, Master.”

“ _Non._ ” He shook his head. “I didn’t buy y’r servitude, Spencer. I bought y’r freedom.”

That one word was enough to have Spencer going entirely on alert. It wasn’t a visible thing, really. But Remy knew that every inch of him was now braced. Then Spencer surprised him completely by folding himself down on the bed once more as fear built around him so thick it almost choked Remy. In a low, aching voice, Spencer pleaded with him. “Master, have I displeased you? If it pleases you, tell me, and I will do anything to fix it.”

 _Dieu_! Remy’s stomach clenched. “Spencer, mec, y’ aint done nothing wrong.” He quickly tried to reassure him. Just barely did he manage to resist reaching out to touch him. Right now Spencer would be braced for a blow and a casual touch wouldn’t be a good idea. He was going to have to stick with words. “Y’ haven’t displeased me at all. I’m trying to help y’. To set y’ free.” The words seemed to have no effect on the man. Spencer still stayed bowed down, body braced and waiting, his fear still pouring off of him. Remy reached out with his charm, using it to try and soothe some of that fear away while he sought to soothe with his words as well. “I aint a Master, Spencer. Y’ don’t gotta call me dat. A person aint meant to be property. Y’ had a life b’fore dis happened to y’. Don’t y’ want to find it again? Don’t y’ want to be free? I can help y’ find dat. I can help y’ find who y’ are again if y’ll let me.”

The body on the bed gave a soft little tremble that only made Remy’s stomach clench even more. “Master, please, let me serve you.” Spencer begged him, never once rising from his position. “Please. I can be a good boy for you, I swear. I’ll be anything you need me to be. Just please, Master, let me serve you. Don’t cast this boy aside.”

“Ah, Spencer.” Aching, Remy tried to figure out what to do next. He hadn’t really thought that it would be so simple as telling the man he was free. Three years was a long time to live in this lifestyle and it would’ve been a miracle if Spencer had simply accepted his offer of freedom. The stats that Remy had read had said the young man had three years in service—that didn’t count whatever time he’d been trained. What Remy knew of the adult slave rings, they were taken to a ‘training facility’ when captured and they didn’t leave there until considered safe to the general populace. Who knew how long Spencer had been trained before he’d started serving his first Master. But none of that explained this immense sort of fear at even the suggestion of being free? Unless maybe he thought it was some kind of trick, a test of some sorts. Could someone have really done something like that to him before?

All of this had Remy feeling sick to his stomach. It had been a long, long time since he’d been involved in anything like this lifestyle. His childhood had given him a healthy fear for those that led these kinds of things. As an adult, he avoided taking any work that involved human trafficking in any way, though he was not above taking names of those he heard were running these things and finding a way to financially ruin them. That, he took great pleasure in. Maybe it didn’t stop them completely but he knew it would set them back. But he had fought hard to avoid associating with people who even dabbled in this scene. He’d been known to walk out on a job if the person he met with had a slave in his presence. It was well known in certain circles that, if you hired Gambit for a job, any association with human trafficking was a deal breaker.

But this case had come to the X-Men and Remy hadn’t been able to back away. To do so would have meant that he let his friends go in, woefully unprepared, unknowing of so many different important aspects of this lifestyle, and it meant that people he cared about could be killed because he’d been too cowardly to help them.

His first course of action had been to try to convince them to not do this. To take a different job, or to pass this job to someone else. But Charles had been insistent that they do this. He would not sit idly by while there was something he could do to stop this. Remy had barely resisted the urge to point out that there was nothing _he_ was doing. Charles wasn’t doing a damn thing. It was everyone else that would be at risk here. He’d kept those thoughts locked on the inside, though. On the outside, he’d nodded and acted as if this were just any other job. Despite everything in him screaming to get as far away from this as possible, he’d dove right in and helped them build a plan. It was his idea to go in and infiltrate the masses to try and find their way towards the top.

The person in top was always someone kept hidden. Oh, people knew a key group that was high ranking. Those that were important. But the one who ran the show? The one who funded the whole thing? That was always kept secret from everyone but those high ranking ones, just to keep that person safe. To get to them, they were going to have to befriend those in power and hope that they could be used to be led back to the one they wanted. While Remy, Logan and Jean worked here, identifying those in power and trying to get connected, they passed off any names they got to the team, who then turned around and put those people under surveillance. That was the plan.

None of their plans had factored in something like this. Remy watched Spencer, watched him as he held perfectly still and waited on the word of his Master, and he wondered how the hell he was going to fix this. What was he going to do? The young man was utterly terrified at the idea of being set free! Remy knew what it was like to be afraid. He knew what it was to be afraid of a Master and to be afraid of being without one. But his fear had been nothing like this. He hadn’t been an adult who had made a life for themselves, only to have it all stripped away. He hadn’t been taken and broken down until there was nothing left but the need to serve. No, he’d been taken as a child and raised up this way so that it had been all he knew. But his little rebellious heart had always dreamed of freedom. He couldn’t begin to imagine how different it was for Spencer. What had it done to him to be taken from whatever life he’d made and forced into this one?

Remy’s brain couldn’t seem to wrap around this problem, so he did the only thing he could think of. He led with his heart. “Up, Spencer. Up.” He said softly. When the young man rose once more, Remy moved forward, climbing on his knees onto the bed. He moved forward so that he was inches in front of Spencer, kneeling just as he was. Then he reached up and cupped the young man’s face, turning it up. “Look at me. Please, Spencer. I want y’ to look at me fo’ dis.” He waited until those captivating eyes were lifted, hesitantly locking on him. Though Spencer didn’t look eye to eye, he did at least look at Remy’s face. He guessed Spencer was looking at something like his nose. Anything that was on his face without actually being his eyes. Training went too deep for him to meet someone’s eyes. For now, that would have to do. Remy kept hold of his face and stroked his thumbs over Spencer's cheekbones. “I want y’ to hear me and hear me well on dis. I bought y’ at de sale today cause I saw somet’ing on y’r face when y’ was kneeling dere. Somet’ing dat tells me dat dere’s still life inside of y’. Maybe y’ don’t feel like it, _mais_ y’r not completely broken inside. And if it’s de last t’ing I do, I’m gonna help y’ find dat part of y’rself again. I’m gonna do fo’ y’ what a kind man once did fo’ dis Cajun.”

He watched Spencer's face, carefully reading his emotions. The fear was still there and still strong. Shifting one hand, Remy slipped it down to the bandage on Spencer's neck, lightly brushing over it as if stroking the tattoo underneath. “I’m not casting y’ aside, Spencer. Dis tattoo, dis symbol, it de mark of de LeBeau clan. M’ family’s mark. On m’ honor, y’r my responsibility now. On m’ family’s honor. Dat means I’ll take care of y’. Y’ don’t have to leave unless y’ want to.”

Spencer bowed his head down as best as he could with Remy’s one hand still on his cheek and the relief he felt was immense. “Thank you, Master. Thank you. I won’t disappoint you.”

Enough was enough for one night. There was only so far he could push the man. He kept one hand on Spencer's cheek and brought the other up, unable to resist stroking some of his hair back from his face. He smiled at him before letting go. “Let’s get ready fo’ bed, _homme_. It’s been a long day and I’m definitely ready fo’ some sleep.”

Remy climbed off the bed, intending on going to the bathroom to take care of his nightly rituals while giving Spencer a little time to think on everything that had been said. He’d half expected to come out when he was done and find the boy still kneeling in the middle of the bed. There was no sound from the main room while he was brushing his teeth. But when he came back into the bedroom, Spencer wasn’t kneeling on the bed anymore. He was kneeling beside it. On the bed were laid out a pair of pajama pants and the t-shirt he usually kept bundled with them. It didn’t take a genius to realize what role Spencer was playing here. He must’ve spent some time as a house servant or a valet to act this way. When Remy got close, Spencer didn’t move, didn’t even flinch, and Remy bit back the urge to tell him to rise. _“Baby steps, mon fils_ ” his father had warned him. _“Don’t expect too much at once. Dere’s times y’r gonna have to let him play de role he’s used to. Take him too far out of what he knows and all y’r going to do is terrify him and set back any progress y’ve made. Just take baby steps.”_

Baby steps. Right, he could do that. He held his tongue and started to pull his clothes off when he reached the side of the bed. Remy didn’t have any real modesty, so there was no problem for him to strip with Spencer kneeling there. It didn’t bother him in the least. He felt only relief at getting out of the snazzy get up he’d had to sport today. When every bit of clothing was discarded, he breathed a sigh of relief and picked up his pajama shirt. Behind him, he heard Spencer moving almost silently, gathering up the clothes he’d shed and taking them to the hamper kept in here for that purpose. By the time Remy was dressed, Spencer was back on his knees beside him again.

The Cajun looked down at the top of Spencer's head and knew that, baby steps or not, on this point he would be firm. “Come on, Spencer. I’m ready fo’ sleep and I bet y’ are too. Let’s get in dis bed and try to get some shuteye b’fore mornin’. M’ friends, dey got an ungodly sense of when breakfast is.” And without giving Spencer a chance to worry over the order, as he had a feeling he might, Remy pulled the blankets back and gestured toward the bed with one hand. “Come on now, in.”

To Spencer, the words were obviously considered an order and he couldn’t bring himself to disobey an order. Quickly he climbed up into the bed and lay down. Remy wasted no time sliding in after him and pulling the blankets up. It was a king sized bed; there was plenty enough room for two. Remy snuggled right in, sighing at the luxurious feel of the mattress. He really had to see about getting himself a bed like this. It was heavenly.

Through half open eyes, he saw something that had him shifting once more. “Oh! I almost forgot. _Désolé,_ Spencer.” He reached out and took hold of the collar around Spencer's neck. In no time he found the catch and unhooked it, pulling it off of Spencer's neck and tossing it to the floor. Then he reached over and turned the lamp off. When he rolled back, he saw Spencer lying there, eyes wide, one hand over his throat. His shock was easy to feel. He clearly hadn’t expected the collar to come off. But there was no way that Remy was going to let it stay on. Though he didn’t know Spencer well enough to really trust him—most definitely he would be sleeping lightly tonight, just in case—he did believe that the young man wouldn’t try to use his powers to kill him. Escape? Maybe. That was kind of iffy. Harm someone? No, no. He didn’t think so. It didn’t seem like something he would do.

With one hand Remy patted Spencer's arm reassuringly. “Get some sleep. T’ings will look clearer in de morning.”

Still, despite how tired they were, it was a while before either man drifted off to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

A knock on the door woke the two sleeping men come morning time. It was followed by a call of “Breakfast!” from Logan. The cheerful tone to his voice and the bright sunlight in the room had Remy scowling and trying to burrow down under the blankets. Dammit. He’d forgotten to draw the drapes last night to block out the morning sun. It was too damn early and too damn bright. “ _Merde_. Fuckin’ sunlight.” He grumbled to himself.

The bed shifted suddenly and Remy had barely uncovered his head to peek out when the room suddenly became much darker. The sunlight wasn’t completely gone but the drapes were now drawn so that only hints of it peeked through. The darkness had Remy sighing with relief. He pulled the blankets back off his head and turned a sleepy smile over to the window where Spencer stood. “ _Merci_ , Spencer. Little sensitive to de light, me. F’got to shut de drapes b’fore bed last night.” Luxuriously he stretched his arms out above his head. It felt good to pull his muscles for a moment before sighing and sinking back into the soft mattress.

He’d just gotten comfortable again, a nice sleepy buzz still running through his body, when Logan called out “Gumbo! Get yer ass on out here and eat!”

Remy grumbled and opened his eyes enough to glare over at the door. One thing he definitely hated about this assignment was the hours he kept. Neither Logan nor Jean was the type to laze around in bed and get a late start on the day. They were early risers and expected him to be as well. Why, he had no idea. It wasn’t like they had anything to do until afternoon or later anyways! But he was outvoted on this and they weren’t above coming in to make him get out of bed.

Off to the side he saw as Spencer moved almost soundlessly forward, stopping by one of the posters at the foot of the bed. “Would you like me to bring you breakfast, Master?”

“Y’ aint gotta call me dat. M’ name’s Remy. An as tempting as dat offer is, I’ll have to pass, _mon ami_.” A long-suffering sigh slid from Remy. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, rubbing one hand over his face. “Aint really big on breakfast, no ways. Mostly just like de coffee, me.”

When Remy finally pulled the blankets back and rose up from bed, he had to admit that it did feel kind of nice to have Spencer right there with his robe, waiting for him. Even as he appreciated the gesture, he mentally cursed himself a little for it. He wasn’t supposed to enjoy having a slave! He was supposed to be helping him find a way back to being in control of himself again! He reminded himself of that as he moved over to the dresser where his clothes were. “Y’ know, y’ aint much smaller dan me. Least, not by too much. Dere should be somet’ing in here fo’ y’ to wear. C’mon over and let’s take a look.”

He felt Spencer's surprise, as well as a hint of unease. This was definitely taking him out of his comfort zone. But the young man did what he was asked and he came to stand by Remy, who looked through his things before settling on a simple t-shirt and either a pair of jeans or a pair of cotton pants. He was tempted to ask Spencer which he wanted, but he knew he wouldn’t get a straight answer. So he simply put the jeans back and handed him the cotton pants. They had ties that would help keep them on him. “Here. Y’ go on, go take care of any morning needs and change on into dese. Den y’ come back on out here.”

He watched as Spencer silently took the clothes and headed toward the bathroom. It was obvious the young man was unsure of what was going on. That was fine. Remy knew this wasn’t going to be an overnight fix. This was going to take time and patience. He promised himself that he’d do what he could on the first and make sure he had plenty of the second. The young man was his responsibility now and he was going to make sure he was taken care of.

* * *

On silent feet, Spencer fell into step just slightly behind his Master, unsure as to what was going on. He wasn’t quite sure what his role was yet in this new household. He was going to have to carefully watch Master to discover what it was the man wanted of him. Never before had a master failed to tell him his role, yet this one seemed to do everything differently than Spencer had been taught.

When the two men emerged from the bedroom, they found the table set full of food and a man and woman already seated there. There were two more plates set at the table and Spencer wondered where the other guest was at. He had yet to see anyone else in the suite but that didn’t mean that they weren’t there. He gave a quick look around him and found no other people hiding in the room. He’d become an expert at finding people around him. Knowing who was where in the room was a skill that came in handy many a time in his life. Secure in the knowledge that he knew who was here and where they were, he focused his attention once more on the man in front of him.

His thoughts returned to where they’d been before. His Master was proving to be a very different person from anyone that Spencer had served so far. He hadn’t yelled at him once since he’d been brought here and he hadn’t punished him for anything either. Last night he had given that speech about freedom that had left a sick feeling of fear in Spencer's stomach—he couldn’t be alone, he just couldn’t!—and yet after that, he had slid nicely into the role of Master. While treating Spencer in an almost special way, he’d also maintained that air of command and control. He’d offered him freedom and then said that Spencer was his responsibility. He’d been kind enough to have Spencer sleep in the bed with him, yet his words to climb in bed had been a command and not a request. And he’d even taken that damnable collar off! Then this morning, he’d given Spencer some clothes to put on—a shock all on its own—yet it had clearly been an order to wear them.

It was almost too good to be true. Spencer had met varying types of Master’s over the years. He had experience with many different kinds. Yet this Master was acting in a way that almost made Spencer hopeful. He tried to push that feeling down and away; it was too early to begin to make judgments and carrying that kind of hope could only led to being hurt. Yet he couldn’t help it. Master was acting like the kind of Master most slaves secretly longed to have. Kind, yet strong. Gentle, yet firm. Caring, yet dominating. Every slave hoped in their hearts to find a Master that they could end up proudly serving. One that maybe they could love a little. At least, that was what they dreamed of once they gave up the notion of ever being free. Some still held on to that in the early days. Spencer had held on to that for quite a long time. But before his training was done, he knew the truth. He discovered just how doomed he really was. This was his life now. Hoping for more was foolish. All he could hope for was to find a Master that he might actually be able to like.

Spencer pushed those useless thoughts out of his head. It was far, far too soon to even think about things like that. He had more important things to do right now. Like learn about his Master. Master hadn’t told him what his role in the household was, which meant that Spencer needed to observe and learn what his role would be. He was adept at playing many different roles. It was obvious that Master didn’t mind him taking on the roles of a valet in the bedroom. He hadn’t protested to the laying out of his clothes or the help into his robe. He also seemed to want a companion as well. Someone to help warm the bed with him. Those were both roles Spencer had played. Now he was going to study and see how breakfast would go. Were there other slaves that would appear now? How did he want his slave to act during meals? Did he expect to be served? Did he want Spencer silent and out of the way? It was always best to err on the side of formality. It was better to be told to step back than have to be told to serve.

When they reached the table, Spencer stood back and to the side as Master took a seat. Just as he was about to move by his chair and prepare to serve him the coffee he remembered Master had said he’d wanted, the Cajun looked up at him and made a gesture to the empty chair beside him. “Why don’t y’ take a seat, Spencer? Join us fo’ some breakfast.”

Wait…what? Join them? At the _table_? The words had been phrased as a question yet Spencer instinctively wanted to respond to them as if they were an order. Still, he was unsure. Was this some kind of test? Some trick? He slanted a quick look to the man and woman and then looked back to him. “Master?”

“Sit, Spencer.” Master’s words were soft and firm and Spencer responded to them automatically. He quickly slipped down into the chair at his Master’s side. It felt so very wrong to be sitting here with them yet he couldn’t disobey a direct order. At the same time, he couldn’t stop his stomach from clenching slightly or his body from bracing in preparation of a blow he was sure was coming. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten at the table like a regular person instead of standing against the wall or kneeling beside a chair while his betters ate.

Master’s hand reached over, curling around Spencer's thigh, warm and strong. “It’s gonna be okay, Spencer.” That thick Cajun drawl carried a reassuring note that warmed Spencer's insides just slightly. “I want y’ up at de table with us. I want y’ to eat, too. Y’r at least a good ten pounds underweight and y’ need de food. Y’ just sit here with me and eat y’r breakfast and y’ll be fine. Dese people here are Logan and Jean and dey aint gonna hurt y’, I promise y’ dat.”

“You’re safe here, sweetie. No one’s going to hurt you.” The fire-haired woman—Jean—told him. Her voice was sweet and gentle, pitched low to be as reassuring as could be. Spencer slanted her a cautious look before dropping his eyes back down to his lap. He focused on Master’s long fingers still curled over his thigh. This whole thing seemed surreal. Thinking about it left him scared and nervous and just a little sick. Spencer knew if he kept thinking, he’d start to shake a little and he might be sick. He pushed it all back into a far corner of his mind to think about later. For now he would just do what he was told and that was that. He would follow orders and serve as his Master saw fit. Who was he to question those orders, no matter what they were? Training kicked in and Spencer tucked who he was into that little corner of his mind and let the slave come forth. It was safer that way.

The hand stayed on his leg while the woman served food onto their plates and Spencer battled back his discomfort. It was one thing to have another slave serve food; that was normal. But to be the only slave in the room while Master’s friend served the food? It went against everything Spencer knew. But he kept quiet about it. It was not his place to say anything. Then the woman started to put food onto his plate and Spencer's distress grew.

Master’s hand suddenly went off his leg and reached up to stop Jean before she could put the food down. “ _Non_ , Jeannie.” The words were gentle, yet there was that hint of firmness to them. Not command, no. Not with his friends. But firmness, yes. “Y’ worry bout y’ two.”

“Remy…” Confusion and a spark of worry lit up Jean’s face.

Logan reached over and took Jean’s wrist, pulling it back. He took the spoon she’d been serving with and set it in the large bowl of eggs. “He knows what he’s doing.” Logan told her. “Have a little trust, Jeannie. It’s fine.”

While that was happening, Master had turned his attention to Spencer, obviously unconcerned with the others at the moment. “Do y’ have any food allergies, Spencer? Anyt’ing dat I should worry about? Don’t want y’ eating somet’ing dat’s gonna make y’ sick.”

“No, Master.”

With a nod, Master turned his attention back to the food. He served himself first, as was right, and then began to serve Spencer food. As he did, he spoke clearly and calmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Like I told y’, y’r underweight, and it aint healthy. So we’re gonna put y’ on a proper diet to get y’r weight up where y’ need to be. _Mais_ if y’r body starts to get full b’fore y’r done, y’ stop eating and y’ tell me.” In those last words was a hint of command and his red and black eyes moved up to Spencer's face to make sure he understood. “Dere’s no point in making y’rself eat more dan y’r body can handle. Y’ do, de food’s just gonna come back up later and den it’s a waste. Y’ understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

“ _Bien_.” The firm look Master wore softened slightly and the edge of his mouth twitched with a tiny smile, the man under the master shining through. “ _Merde_. Y’r gonna raise quite de scandal back home. Aint no one gonna quite know what to do wit’ y’, cher.” He chuckled and put back the spoon he’d been serving with, leaving Spencer with a plate of eggs, some sausage, and some hash browns. There was also a piece of toast set there as well. He picked up the pitcher of juice and poured some into a cup that he set by Spencer's plate as well. That done, Master turned his attention to his own coffee and the single piece of toast he’d served himself. He picked up his mug and smiled at his two friends. “So, _mes amis_ , is dere any plans fo’ today?”

“Nope.” Logan said. He seemed to Spencer to be a man of few words.

Jean elaborated just a little more. “Nothing today that I can remember.”

“ _Bon_. T’ink Remy’s gonna head into town today, go pick up some t’ings. Y’ wanna come shopping wit’ me, Jeannie? It’ll get us seen out and about and we can get some t’ings. Logan don’t never wanna come shopping with po’ Remy.”

Listening to Master talk made Spencer smile a little on the inside. He sat quietly beside the man and ate his breakfast and let himself just listen to the wash of voices. He kept a careful eye on the tone to make sure that things didn’t change to something he needed to watch and he made sure to listen for anything that might be directed his way. Otherwise, he let most of it wash over him, not really needing to pay attention to the plans Master and Jean made to go out and shop. When Master’s hand settled on his leg again, Spencer warmed a little. Touches like this, gentle ones with no real purpose, were something slaves were taught early on were a reward for good behavior or a sign that Master was pleased with them. And pleasing a master was the most important thing in a slave’s world.

He managed to eat over half of his plate, a veritable feast compared to how he’d eaten lately. When he felt his stomach could take no more he prepared to do as Master had said and let him know that he was done. However, he didn’t have to. Master seemed to notice and he commented “Y’ done, Spencer?”

Relieved that he wouldn’t have to bring it up himself, Spencer relaxed a little. “Yes, Master.”

“ _D’accord._ Why don’t we all go sit in de living room, den, since everyone’s done? Be more comfortable in dere.”

In short order, the group had moved to the living area of the suite. Spencer didn’t even think about his actions as he waited for Master to take his seat before sinking down to his knees beside his Master’s feet. Some sound came above him and then he heard Logan’s low voice, murmuring a quiet “Let it go.”

The room went quiet for a minute and the only sounds Spencer heard were the sounds of the people around him adjusting slightly into their seats. He took a deep breath and settled himself into that familiar stillness he had learned long, long before he’d even entered the slave blocks.

* * *

Remy felt as Spencer seemed to embrace this sense of inner calm. It reminded him of Logan when the man was meditating. He was centered in himself and everything else just fell to the wayside. For a moment Remy just let himself feel that calmness. He closed his eyes and let the peace of the morning and the peace of his boy wash over him. It was Jean who broke the quiet, her voice pitched to be warm and friendly, most likely trying to set Spencer at ease, or maybe trying to keep with the calm that had settled over the whole room. “So, Spencer. Why don’t you tell us a little about yourself?”

There was a short pause in which Spencer said nothing. There was a questioning sensation coming from him, though, and Remy knew what it was for. It meant Spencer was thinking about what to do and wondering what Remy would want. Remy reached down and lightly brushed his fingers over that silky soft hair. Softly he said “Go on, _homme_. Y’ can answer her.”

“What would you like to know, Ma’am?” Spencer responded immediately.

“Oh, sweetie. Just call me Jean.” She smiled in a charming way, obviously trying to set him at ease. Remy could’ve told her the smile was pointless. At the place she was sitting, with the angle Spencer's head was tipped down, even if he peeked up he would only be able to see no higher than her chin, if he figured things right. But she didn’t seem to notice. “Why don’t we start with some simple things? How old are you?”

Now that he had permission, Spencer's answer was swift. “Three, Ma’am.”

“Three?” Surprised, Jean looked to Remy, seeking understanding.

The worst part was, Remy did understand. He knew exactly what Spencer meant by that. “Not y’r new age. She wants to know y’r physical age, cher.” The endearment slipped out before he’d really even thought about it.

Spencer quickly corrected himself. “Twenty seven.”

Her next question was asked just slightly more delicately. “How old were you when you were…brought into this life?”

“I was first taken to the training facility when I was twenty three, Ma’am.”

A low growl came from Logan. “Twenty three? You’ve been living like this for four years?”

Again, Spencer had a questioning sensation, and Remy reached out once more to stroke his hair, this time continuing the light petting when he felt how relaxed it made Spencer. “It’s okay, Spencer. Y’ can speak freely here.” He murmured. That seemed to do the trick. With Remy’s permission and steady presence, Spencer easily answered their questions. “Yes, Sir. I spent six months in the training facility and another six within the advanced training before being reborn and sold to my first Master.”

“How many owners or Masters have you had to serve, Spencer? Can you tell us about them?” Jean asked. Her voice had gone soft, with this slightly aching note to it that Remy could hear as well as feel. He knew this kind of lifestyle was so foreign to her, so beyond her usual realm of understanding. She was just barely holding herself up sometimes, yet she did better than most. With the last part of her question, she showed how little she did understand about people who were trained to be slaves. Most likely she’d asked if he could tell them about his masters in an effort to try and get him to open up and trust her. What she didn’t seem to realize was that Remy had told Spencer to answer questions and he would answer any question presented to him, no matter what it was. Not because of trust, but because his master had told him to.

Still, even Remy wasn’t quite prepared to handle the answer that came, even knowing about the lifestyle the way he did. He listened with a growing horror and anger as Spencer told his tale. “I’ve been owned by three people, but I have served many, Ma’am. My first owner kept me for a month before gifting me to his friend and I served and worked with that Master for a year as a companion, a valet, and a pleasure slave. I also performed duties of an errand slave and made occasional trips to the market or the pharmacist. My last owner had two brothers and a sister and I served them all in every capacity demanded until they put me on the blocks to pay their debts. ”

“Oh.” The soft sound slid from Jean. “Oh, sweetie.”

Her distress wasn’t obvious to just Remy; Spencer noticed it as well and reacted to it. His body tensed and Remy had a feeling that, if he hadn’t had his hand in Spencer's hair, the young man would’ve bowed to the floor. As it was, his head tipped down while still managing to keep his hair accessible for Remy’s stroking touch, and he started to quickly apologize. “I’m sorry if I’ve offended, Ma’am. If I have displeased you, I offer myself for correction.”

Correction was what a guest was allowed to give, Remy knew. Punishment was given by a slave’s Master, or at the Master’s permission.

Jean’s eyes widened at his words. She looked lost for a second and Remy could see that she was battling coming over to touch or hug Spencer. It was a good thing she didn’t. Spencer wouldn’t have reacted well. And, surprising himself, Remy realized that _he_ wouldn’t have reacted well either. He felt protective of the boy and he wouldn’t let someone upset him more than he already was. A touch from Jean right now definitely would’ve upset him. With his unique understanding of this type of situation, Remy assessed the situation and he knew what he had to do. What he needed to do warred strongly with what he _wanted_ to do. _Baby steps_ he reminded himself. Papa had told him to take baby steps. That was why he’d allowed Spencer to kneel while they talked, giving him that bit of comfort. Now that the young man had been upset and taken out of his comfort zone, Remy was going to help him slip back in, trying to walk that fine line between giving Spencer what he needed to not grow terrified and helping encourage him to start becoming whole once more.

“No correction, Spencer.” Remy made his voice firm once more, using the tone that Spencer responded to. “I don’t allow dat. If dere’s a problem, den de problem is to be brought to my attention, not someone else. I deal with t’ings. I told y’, y’r my responsibility now.” He slipped his hand down from Spencer's hair to brush over the fresh bandage on his tattoo.

The way that Spencer eased at that reminder was saddening. He wasn’t the only one to notice it. Jean reached out to Remy and he accepted her touch. Her mind-voice held an ache to it. _//That tattoo means the world to him, doesn’t it?//_

 _//Oui. It seems to reassure him. Y’ only tattoo slaves y’ plan on keeping round. Dey make y’ tattoo dem when y’ buy from places like we been going, mais de smaller places don’t require it, an dey sell and trade slaves like dey’re not’ing. He’s probably been on some bad blocks b’fore dis one//_ Remy sent back. The thought had him wanting to gather the man close to him even though it was far too late to protect him. Remy had seen some of those cheaper, trashier blocks. He’d seen the way people were treated there, worse than cattle.

Deliberately he let one of those memories drift up so that Jean could see it. He heard her gasp and felt her shock. In her shock, she slipped out of mind-speech. “How is it that this whole subculture of slaves exists and no one is any the wiser?” Jean both looked and sounded beyond frustrated.

Remy felt Spencer tense and he put his hand on his shoulder to reassure him. It was Logan who answered her question. “People see what they wanna see, darlin. No one wants to see this. They’d rather pretend this shit don’t happen no more.”

“But, but…how can they _not_ see this? People walking around with tattoos, brands on their skin. People living in houses, serving others. The brothels that I’ve heard of since we’ve been here! How is it that this all exists underneath everything else?”

“How is it de Guilds exist and most of de world don’t even know about dem?” Remy countered. He shrugged one shoulder and sat back in his seat once more. “Told y’, people see what dey wanna see. No one wants to even t’ink dat dere’s slavery still. Not wanting to admit it don’t stop it from happening, though.”

“But how is it that no one sees or questions even these tattoo brands?” Jean asked.

A small sensation from Spencer had Remy looking at him curiously. “Y’ got an answer fo’ dat, Spencer?”

The man didn’t hesitate. “Yes, Master.”

“Why don’t y’ share it, den?” It was hard to try and make sure his words gave the proper permission Spencer required without actually ordering him. Remy didn’t want to fall into the habit of ordering someone around that wasn’t able to bring himself to disobey him.

“Yes, Master.” Spencer murmured. His voice rose only slightly, addressing the room now instead of just Remy. “Tattoos are easy to explain away and very few people opt to tattoo a slave in a visible place. They also rarely tattoo as boldly as Master chose to do. Some are tattooed with a simple number, or a small symbol, more like a brand than anything else. They also have a cover story prepared for their slaves on the off chance that they’re questioned. Only slaves that are considered the most trustworthy, or the most secure, are allowed out in public sight. Those ones are trained to know their story well and easily deflect any questions put to them.”

Any further questioning was cut off by the sound of a cell phone. Remy watched as Jean pulled her phone out of her pocket. The smile that touched her lips let them know it was Scott. He was the only one that would draw that reaction from her. “Hello, Scott.” She answered warmly. Almost instantly the smile wiped off her face and Remy felt her go on alert. Logan and Remy both reacted to the change in her mood by sitting forward in their seats and bracing for whatever trouble was coming. “Got it.” Jean said. “You too. Be safe.” Then she snapped the phone closed and shoved it into her pocket while pushing up. “We need to go. Scott says someone got word and they’re sure our cover’s blown. We’ve got a half an hour, maybe, before they find where we’re staying. He’s meeting us on the roof in five minutes.”

Logan shot to his feet and hurried off to his room. Remy caught hold of Spencer's arm, tugging him to his feet. “C’mon, Spencer.” He pulled the man after him, in the direction of their room. They had to move fast. Remy was already stripping as he came inside. “Grab de bag under de bed fo’ me, would y’? We need to be out of here fast.”

There wasn’t a single ounce of fear that came from Spencer. He moved with quick, efficient movements, grabbing the bag from under the bed and setting it on the bed. Without being told, he started to gather up the dirty clothes off the floor and the ones from the hamper. Then he moved over, taking the clean ones as well, moving silently around Remy who was dressing and arming himself. By the time that Remy was dressed, something that took only moments, Spencer had his bag packed and ready to go. He also had his shoes on, the same ones he’d left the auction block with yesterday, and he was back in the light clothes that he’d worn then as well. Remy only took a moment to marvel at the man’s ability to move so fast. There was no time for that, though. He could marvel at it later. “ _Merci,_ Spencer. Let’s get going.”

Remy tried to take his bag but Spencer already had it over one shoulder and was waiting to follow him. For the moment, Remy shrugged it off, not wanting to bother with it. Now wasn’t the moment for any of this. They needed to get the hell out of here, now, before anyone arrived.

Logan and Jean were just stepping into the main room as well and the three X-Men moved together without a need for words. Remy brought Spencer close to him and warned him to “Stick close to me” and then the group was making their way quickly and quietly out of the room. They were on alert for any trouble on their way up, but luck seemed to be on their side in this at least. They reached the rooftop without incident. When they opened the door, they found the Blackbird already parked on the rooftop waiting for them, the back hatch open wide.

The team was waiting inside. Scott was there with Ororo as his copilot. No one else had come with them for this. The two were still in their seats and they started hitting buttons the instant that everyone was inside. The hatch started to close almost immediately behind them. Remy drew Spencer over to a set of seats with him and sat him down, taking the seat beside him. At the moment Spencer still felt calm and controlled, with only a hint of fear riding underneath everything, and Remy wasn’t sure how long that was going to last. Especially once the questions started, as they inevitably would.

He saw Spencer trying to figure out the straps to the seat and he leaned over and quickly hooked him in. When he did, he flashed a smile at him. “ _Désolé, mon ami_. Thought I’d have more of a chance fo’ y’ to get settled b’fore all dis.”

“Everyone in?” Scott called back. “All right. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

It took only moments more before they were in the air. Remy discreetly watched Spencer the whole time, taking note of the way Spencer's eyes seemed to dart here and there. Not like he was panicking, more like he was taking in everything around him, every single little detail, and filing it away. There was a sharpness and intelligence to that gaze though he obviously tried to hide it with his hair and a subservient bow of his head. That right there—that spark, that intelligence—gave Remy hope. Hope that there really was still someone buried underneath the harsh lessons that Spencer had been taught. Hope that there was a chance to still save him.

Once they were up in the air and smoothly flying, Scott passed control over to Ororo and he turned around in his seat to look back at them. “Well, that went to hell fast. Does anyone have any idea how they figured out who we are?” For the first time, Scott noticed their extra person, and his eyebrows shot up above his visor. “Who are you?”

Remy felt Spencer's fear spike and he laid a hand on his leg in reassurance. Then he lifted his chin and calmly met Scott’s gaze. “Cyke, I’d like y’ to meet Spencer.” He paused and then mentally shrugged, deciding to go for broke. Best to get this all out right up front. “I bought Spencer yesterday at de auction blocks.”

The jet was quiet for one long beat before Scott’s voice suddenly echoed around them with a loud “ _What?_ ”


End file.
